


Here, Between the Lights

by chalantness



Series: when is hell a home? (oh, when it's with you) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Las Vegas Wedding, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 10:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: “Is this just your excuse to touch me, Rogers?”She’d meant it to be teasing, to reassure him that she’s fine, but he doesn’t quirk his lips or breathe out a laugh, doesn’t evenblink.“No.” His eyes drop to her lips, lingering too long to be an accident. “When I touch mywife, I won’t need an excuse.”





	Here, Between the Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ice326](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice326/gifts).



> This is the first in a series of smut pieces of Steve and Natasha on the run post-Civil War, pre-Infinity Wars because... I had a lot of smut prompts that I wanted to mash together and I kept gravitating toward this point in the timeline, so why not?

“Wife, huh?”

She feels herself smile as she tips her head back, letting the alcohol slide down her throat, and then she sets her shot glass back onto the table and slides it over to him. “Well, they weren’t going to give your spare hotel key to just anyone,” she points out, stretching her arms over her head and feeling her muscles ache against the strain.

 _Fuck_. It’s been a week since her tumble in Rio and yet she still feels tender. Maybe she’d hurt herself harder than she thought.

She knows that Steve catches the way her expression pinches in discomfort, too, because he frowns as he reaches for her, tugging up the hem of her camisole to reveal the large discoloring over her ribs. She winces. It looks _bad_ , and it’s absolutely larger than she remembers it being when she first iced it, though she can’t say that she’s checked on it since then. She didn’t exactly have the time to. Three weeks had been coming up, and if she didn’t meet with Steve when they planned then he would’ve been pissed when he found her.

Not that he’s very pleased right now.

His expression hardens at the edges, his eyes stormy and dark as they slide up to her face, and it’s _stupid_ that she gets a little flutter of warmth because of this. Because he looks so genuinely upset that she’s hurt, even though they both know it can’t quite be helped.

It’s part of their job, their _lives_. She’s been through worse and so has he, and this bruise? It’s almost nothing.

But his muscles are taut, his jaw tight, his gaze is storming and swirling, almost a palpable press against her skin as he holds her stare. He’s upset in a way she hasn’t seen in quite some time, and she has this urge to smooth her thumbs over the creases in his forehead, to ease the tight, tortured lines in his expression.

“How long have you had this?” he asks, tracing his fingers over the edge of her bruise.

“It doesn’t matter, because it’ll be gone in a week,” she replies with a shrug, reaching for his hand to brush it away, but he presses his fingers a little firmer against her skin, his thumb smoothing a circle just under her ribs. A warmth slides down her spine, her pulse tripping ever so slightly. She wonders if he heard it. “Is this just your excuse to touch me, Rogers?”

She’d meant it to be teasing, to reassure him that she’s fine, but he doesn’t quirk his lips or breathe out a laugh, doesn’t even _blink_.

“No.” His eyes drop to her lips, lingering too long to be an accident. “When I touch my _wife_ , I won’t need an excuse.”

She breathes out a laugh as she glances away. “We’re back to that, huh?” He chuckles softly, finally pulling his hand off of her, and she swears she can feel the imprint of his fingers on her skin. “I know marrying me would be awful, but you don’t have to destroy a girl’s ego.”

“Well, you brought me effective booze, which is always a plus,” he jokes as he picks up the flask of Asgardian ale from the table between them. It was one of the few things she’d taken with her before she left the Avengers Facility, because she’d known that she would have the chance to give it to Steve. She’d known that she would see him again. Steve pops the flask open and brings it to his lips, taking a swig, and she feels her lips tug into a grin when his face pinches together at the taste, as if he hadn’t practically downed the first flask ten minutes ago. “ _Fuck_ , that’s got a kick.” He clears his throat and she giggles ( _giggles_ ; fuck, she’s drunk) as she grabs the Grey Goose off of the table. “And it wouldn’t be awful, you know,” he adds.

“What wouldn’t?”

He leans back against the couch, watching her with this soft, barely there sort of smile. “Being married to you.”

She wants to laugh at that, wants to tease him about the ale getting to his head, but even through the haze of her buzz she can tell that he’s being serious. That he means it.

“Kind of a coincidence that we’re talking about this now, in Vegas,” she points out, busying herself with pouring her shot. She can feel his stare sweeping down her face, tickling her flushed skin, making everything light and warm and airy. She can probably blame it on the alcohol if she wants to, but she knows better. She knows she’s always felt like this around him, _because_ of him, and she shouldn’t like it as much as she does. She shouldn’t _want him_ as much as she does. Not when the world has been pulled out from under their feet.

“Yeah, it is. But you don’t really believe in coincidences,” he tells her, and there’s something in his tone that makes her lips part. He smiles ever so slightly, reaches across the small space between them to brush his fingers through her hair. “Do you remember the last time you got drunk with me?”

She almost nods – because she _does_ remember it, remembers that little dive bar in Brooklyn that he’d taken her to – but she knows what he’s really asking.

“What did I say?” Her voice is soft, breathy, as he cups her cheek with his hand, sweeping the pad of his thumb over her skin. She tries to think back, but most of that night is hazy. She only really remembers _Steve_ , his solid arms around her, holding her up, pressing her close. She remembers his laughter, low and vibrating with the way they were huddled together in their little booth, and she remembers the way he smelt of whiskey when she buried her face into his shoulder, his chest, his neck. But everything else about that night is a bit of a blur.

“You asked me if I ever wanted to get married.” His thumb traces the corner of her mouth, his gaze dropping to her lips for a moment, then sliding back up to catch her gaze again. He smiles, eyes soft but bright. “You told me that you wanted that for me—that you were convinced I still had that dream in me, somewhere.”

“I think you do.” She leans into his palm ever so slightly.

His lips tug at the corners. “I asked you the same thing, expecting you to brush it off, maybe play coy. Try to change the subject.” He shifts his hand to tuck his fingers a little further into her hair, cradling the back of her head and gently massaging her scalp. It’s something so simple, almost absent, and she melts into his touch just a little bit more. “But of course you’d surprised me. Do you remember what you said?” It’s not really a question and she knows it, but she shakes her head, anyway, telling him to go on. “That you weren’t sure,” he tells her. “That you’d have to get a taste of it, ease yourself into the idea. Then you laughed because you knew no one would agree to something like that. No one would wait on you.”

“Steve.” Her voice comes out thin, almost shaky, and it feels a little bit like she’s holding her breath.

He continues as if she hadn’t spoken, though his smile widens a little, his eyes glinting. He knows she’s figuring out where this is going.

“You laughed at me when I told you I’d do it. Said that you’d only believe me if I dragged you to the City of Sin myself.” He shifts closer to her, tips her head back to hold her gaze with his. “If I was willing to compromise my beliefs then you knew I was being serious.”

“ _Steve_ ,” she breathes as his other hand tangles into her hair, cradling her face. She’s not trying to stop him, though. She doesn’t _want_ to.

“Marry me, Nat,” he says, his voice low and soft and a little bit gravelly. Her eyelashes flutter. “Sorry. That came out wrong.” His lips quirk at the corners, and, slowly, he leans in, giving her time to pull away, to say _no_. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t even _blink_ , and he brushes his lips over hers in a feather-light touch that sends sparks over her skin. She already feels flushed all over, but her body is practically vibrating right now. “That wasn’t supposed to be a demand. You can say no, but”—he kisses her again—“I really, really want you to say yes.”

She exhales sharply, her head dizzy, though she knows it’s not the alcohol. Her blood is buzzing, her mind a little hazy, but she _knows_ what’s happening. She knows what he’s just asked her. Her choice, whatever that may be, is entirely hers – no manipulation or influence. He didn’t take her here to get her drunk, to trick her into agreeing.

He took her here because he wants to give her that choice. He wants her to choose _him_.

“This is the worst time,” she whispers. “You should cherish this step, Steve. Save it for after the fighting, when we can settle down, come back home. Don’t throw it away on me.”

“I wouldn’t be throwing it away. In case you’ve forgotten, Nat, you’re all I’ve got left of home.” He strokes his thumbs over her cheeks, leans his forehead against hers. Despite her words, she reaches between them and twists her fingers into his shirt, holding him in place before he could even think to pull away. “We’re on the run. Who knows how long we have?” He pulls back to hold her gaze. “You were right, this _is_ still my dream. So let me have this for myself.” Then, even softer: “Let me give this to you, because I know it’s your dream, too.”

She can’t quite help the breathy laugh that falls from her lips, but it just makes him smile a little wider, a little brighter. “This is quite impulsive, even for you, Steve.”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, it isn’t. Not when I’ve thought of doing this ever since that night.” Her lips part and he smiles. “I just figured, better late than never, right?”

Her throat feels tight, her body trembling ever so slightly. “I don’t want you to compromise anything for me.”

“I won’t be.” He says it so simply, easily, so incredibly sure of it that what little hesitation she has seems to melt away all at once. She thinks that maybe he senses it, too, because she can see his expression shifting, his eyes brightening.

“Ask me.” She blinks, her eyelashes dotting with tears. “ _Ask me_ , Steve.”

He chuckles, leaning his forehead against hers again, and his breath is warm against her cheeks as he whispers, “Will you marry me?”

“ _Yes_.”

... ...

Her entire body feels flushed, her pulse tripping in her veins, and she bites on the inside of her lip when Steve’s hand slides over the curve of her ass to press her closer. She knows that they’re not alone in this elevator, but she doesn’t care. Not when Steve’s lips are on her neck, nipping, licking, suckling, making her feel just as airy and light and warm as the vodka thrumming through her. He hasn’t really stopped touching her since he’d held onto her hand and twined their fingers together as they walked to the chapel, but she doesn’t mind. Not at all. In fact, she quite likes the way it feels as if every part of her is pressed against him, likes the tingle that ripples over her wherever the ring on his finger brushes against her skin.

She’s vaguely aware of the elevator chiming, of Steve’s arm coming around her waist, guiding her through the crowd and into the hallway. She thinks there’s even a whistle or two from their audience just before the doors slide shut, and then Steve is pulling back, his gaze heavy and just a little bit hazy as he gives her that crooked, boyish smile of his.

“ _Wife_.”

He whispers the word, not as if it’s a secret, but as if he wants to savor it – and she can’t help the way she laughs because, _fuck_ , it sounds ridiculous. It _is_ ridiculous.

They’re married. _They’re married._

Her heart skips in her chest, her pulse quickening, and the ring on her finger feels strange and familiar all at once. She’s all too aware of the weight of it on her hand, the press of it against her skin, but it doesn’t feel off. It feels _comfortable_.

She slides her hands up his chest, grasps at the collars of his shirt to pull his lips to hers in a kiss. The little, lacy blue dress she’d had at the bottom of her luggage is the same dress she’d worn the first time they’d gone undercover together, and she wonders, somewhere through the haziness in her mind, about the symbolism of wearing it now. She wonders if it means something, the way they’ve always sort of gravitated toward each other, the fact that everything has always been this easy with him, even when it really shouldn’t have been.

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmurs into their kiss, guiding her forward to make their way back to their room. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

His voice sounds teasing yet genuine, somehow, and a warmth unfurls low in her stomach. He’s such a _good man_ , and it’s selfish of her to want him the way she does.

She hums, shakes her head as she slides a hand along his chest to toy with the buttons of his shirt, and her ring catches the dim light from the hallway, shimmering, distracting her. Steve breathes out a chuckle, gently grasps her hand to draw it to his lips, brushing a kiss just above the ring. She swallows lightly, her heart tripping as she gently cups her hand over his jaw, her ring glinting with the small motion. “I was just thinking about that night, in that little dive bar in Brooklyn,” she says as she smooths her thumb over his lips. His gaze is a palpable press against her skin, weighted with want, with _adoration_. “I remember being about as drunk as I am right now, and really, really wanting you to throw me up against a wall.”

“What?” he laughs, his voice breathy and lilting with amusement.

She bites on the inside of her lip, her shoulders shaking in a silent laugh as she brings her hands between them, quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt. They’re still in the middle of the hallway, but she doesn’t care. “I want you to throw me against a wall, soldier,” she tells him again, dragging out the words. “You need an outlet, and I want it to be me.”

“ _Nat_.” Her name comes out tight, a little shaky, but she can tell the emotions swirling in his eyes aren’t hesitance or wariness. Not at all.

“I’m all you’ve got left, remember?” She cups his face with her hands again, and she knows he can feel the cool press of her ring against his skin. She knows he’s just as thrilled by it as she is. “You’re frustrated and you need to focus that somewhere, so focus it on me. I can handle it.” She draws his forehead to hers, her voice a whisper now. “Focus on me, Steve.”

There’s a fleeting pause, a beat of silence, of both of them realizing what this is, realizing that just about everything is about to change.

(Except it’s not. Not _really_.)

Then he nods, and relief unravels in her stomach, quickly dissolving into something warmer, _needier_.

He slants his lips over hers, pushing his tongue against hers, heated, demanding. She lets herself melt against him, lets his scent, his groans, his kiss draw her in, drowning everything else out. She’s vaguely aware of his arm reaching around her, of the soft whir of their door being unlocked, and then they’re stumbling inside and he all but growls into their kiss, kicking the door shut behind him with a faint shudder. She undoes the last buttons of his shirt, tugging it open and pressing her palms flat against him, relishing in the way his muscles flex and coil under her touch. His skin is warm, almost _burning_ , and her lips curve into a smirk against their kiss as she drags her nails down the hard lines of his chest, scratching his abs.

He tugs down the zipper of her dress, letting it slide off of her shoulders as he pulls his lips from hers, his gaze dipping to her white lace bra before. He raises his eyebrows.

“We’re in the City of Sin, Captain. I had to be prepared.” Her lips quirk at the corners. “A girl never knows when she might need a tactical distraction.”

His jaw tightens, his throat flexing as he swallows, _hard_ , and then he’s grasping her by the arms and practically throwing her against the wall, making it rattle ever so slightly under the force. She can feel the impact of it against her back, but she doesn’t have a second to focus on it. Not when his lips are on hers again, his hands fumbling to tug the dress off of her shoulders and push it down her stomach. It bunches at her hips, though instead of yanking it all the way off, he slips a hand under the skirt and over her ass, giving it a squeeze. She gasps into their kiss and he slips his tongue inside, kissing her deeper, dirtier, hooking a finger under the waistband of her thong and tugging it down until it falls around her ankles.

Then he brings both hands over her sides, kneading at her skin, making her moan into their kiss. His hands are large and warm and calloused, their touch almost demanding as they slide over her skin, but it doesn’t feel as if he’s being possessive.

It feels like he’s being _protective_.

She practically tears at his shirt, wanting it _off_ , and he helps her shrug it off before reaching around to snap at the clasp of her bra.

“Wanted this for so long, Nat,” he groans, sliding his lips from hers, over her cheek and down to the curve of her neck. He bites her skin, once, twice, three times, and she sucks in a breath and winds her arms around his neck. Her skin is tingling at the small, harsh sensations, but then he’s pressing the hard front of his jeans against her sex through her dress.

“Show me how much you want this.” She’d meant it to come out demanding, but her voice is breathy, shaky. She digs her nails into his shoulders, nips at his earlobe. “Enough talk.”

His lips curve against her neck as he presses his hips against hers again and again and _again_ , making her spine arch off of the wall. “I don’t know, Romanoff,” he murmurs against her collarbone, then kisses his way lower, her bra straps sliding down her arms. “Words can be rather effective.” He bites at the top of one of her breasts, then licks at the mark before kissing lower, and lower, until his lips find her nipple and wrap around it. He’s practically rocking her body into the wall with his hips, and she feels the desire at the base of her spine coiling tighter and tighter as she drags her nails down his back, needing something, _anything_ , to anchor herself. She’s practically pinned down by the pleasure, unraveling too quickly.

Then he pulls his lips off of her, licking them as he peers down at her through heavy lids. Her mouth is parted, her bra half-falling off of her, her dress twisted around her stomach from the unrelenting motion of his hips. Her breaths are quickening, her lungs burning, and she can feel her walls starting to flutter around nothing.

“Are you going to come just like this?” His voice is smooth and low and gravelly, his hands grasping her hips and hitching her a little higher up the wall, and the change in the angle draws a keening moan from her throat. She can practically feel him straining against his jeans, her dress sticking to her folds with her wetness as he rolls his hips against hers, and the warm wisps of her orgasm start to fan over her skin, start to pull her under. “Has anyone ever done this to you, Nat?” he asks. “Made you come like this? Made you come this fast?”

She shakes her head with a jerk, her sex fluttering, her body trembling.

“ _Good_ ,” he groans, still holding her gaze. “I’ve imagined this so many times, Nat, but none of that comes close. Not to the real you. _Never_ to the real you.”

She whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut as this little confession – the fact that he’s wanted her before, that he’s _pictured_ her before – sends her over that dizzying edge. He holds her up against the wall as she unravels, her body writhing as the white-hot pleasure washes over her, and she digs her nails in harder as she drags them down his back.

He kisses the curve of her neck, his tongue soothing the bite marks he’d left as he sets her on her feet, and she feels her legs quiver as the tremors of her orgasm pulse through her. She knows her body would have given out on her if she hadn’t been leaning against the wall, and she shivers, vaguely aware of Steve pulling her bra off entirely and then finally pushing her dress down her hips and onto the floor. His lips slant against hers, soft, gentle, kissing her slowly as she tries to catch her breath, and she grasps his biceps and pulls him closer.

“You’re so fucking perfect when you come,” he murmurs into their kiss, and a shiver slides down her spine. He pulls away, and she blinks her eyes open when she hears his pants fall to the floor, the buckle of his belt clattering against the hardwood. “I need to see it again.”

She bites on her lower lip, a fresh burst of warmth unraveling in her stomach. She hasn’t entirely come down from her high, but, _fuck_ , she wants more.

“I need to be inside you.” He kisses her, harder, slips his tongue past her lips and teases it against hers. His length is hard and pulsing against the inside of her thigh, and she mewls when he presses it against her slick folds, rubbing against her wetness. “I wanted our first time to be in a bed, but I want you to have this, too, and _fuck_ , I want to give it to you.” He grasps her sides and lifts her up, then hooks his hands under her thighs as her legs wind around his hips. She reaches between them, relishing in the harsh hiss of breath that leaves his lips when her fingers wrap around him. She strokes slowly, cupping his tip and spreading his arousal against her palm with her thumb. “You always did have the better ideas.”

She laughs, breathy and light, even as her stomach flutters in want. “Or maybe you just enjoy following my orders so much,” she teases, guiding him to her entrance.

“Well, you sure as hell weren’t that good at following _mine_ ,” he retorts, and she laughs again, her voice quickly tapering off into a moan as he pushes into her.

Her body coils forward, her forehead falling against his as she exhales harshly. He stretches her, pressing against her oversensitive nerves as he slides through her slickness, her body tightening around his as he fills her.

He groans when he pushes his hips flushed against hers, and it’s as if they both need a moment to catch their breaths, too overwhelmed to move right away.

 _Fuck_ , she’s never felt anything like this before. She’s never felt this perfect.

He starts to pull out of her, her walls fluttering, pulling a whimper from her as he nearly draws all the way out, and then he’s sliding back in just as slowly. She scratches at the muscles of his back, her body vibrating with pleasure, with sensation, as he builds this slow, steady rhythm.

And it doesn’t take long at all before she wants more, her desire fluttering and coiling and tightening low in her stomach. She knows he wants it, too. His muscles are pulled tight as he strains to stay in control, his breaths shallow and uneven, and he lets out a hiss of surprise when she rolls against this thrust, bringing him in deeper, faster.

She doesn’t say anything – _can’t_ say anything with the way her lungs are burning for air – but she knows that she doesn’t need to. She never needs to with Steve.

He groans as he pulls out, then hitches her a little higher up the wall and slides back into her, quicker, harder, and her spine arches off of the wall. She grasps at his face, drawing his lips to hers and kissing him as his rhythm quickens, his hands digging harder into her thighs as he holds her against the wall. It shudders under the force of them, and when he angles his hips, sinking in even deeper and brushing against a spot that makes her cry out his name, he slams his palm hard enough that she swears she hears the wall crack just a little.

“I’m close,” he murmurs against her lips, bringing a hand between them and finding her clit with his thumb, making her whimper as he rolls his hips faster, _faster_.

She bites down on his lower lip, moaning into their kiss as his thumb massages over her little bundle of nerves, pushing her closer to that dizzying edge again. The wall is biting into her shoulders, and she knows she’ll be sore, her skin almost rubbed raw, but she _doesn’t care_. Not when she feels like this, when she feels so much of him.

“With me, Steve,” she breathes, dragging her nails over the stubble of his beard before sliding down his throat, pressing her palms flat against his heart. “Come with your _wife_.”

He groans, his entire body tensing as he circles her clit once, twice, three more times, and then she’s coming undone, her cries echoing into the air of their small hotel room as he keeps fucking her through it, chasing his high. Her walls flutter, squeezing around him as he hits that sweet spot that makes her entire body shudder, and then he’s following her over that edge, his warmth spilling inside her and sending white-hot pleasure through her veins. Everything feels hot and smothering and overwhelming, and she can tell that her eyes are wet with tears, but she doesn’t care. Her senses are blurring together, her blood roaring as it pulses through her, and she can’t focus on anything other than her name on his lips.

... ...

After – _after_ – she rolls onto her side, running her hand over the empty spot on the mattress as her eyelashes flutter open. The room is still dark, even with the bright, blaring lights of The Strip shining from just beyond the balcony, so she knows that she can’t have been asleep for long. Maybe a couple of hours at most.

She lifts herself up, her body straining against the delicious soreness in her muscles, the skin of her back still tingling from being fucked into the wall, and against the carpet, before they’d finally made their way onto the bed. She bites on the inside of her lip, glancing around the room at where the mini fridge had tipped over, where the painting had slid from the wall, and where one of the pillows had been ripped and tossed from the bed and onto the floor. She feels the corners of her lips twitching, threatening to pull in amusement, though she knows Steve probably wouldn’t appreciate that. These were small damages, all things considered, but still not something they could afford to risk putting their names on to pay back before they check out. As it stands, they maybe have three, four hours tops before they need to leave. Though the crowds help to hide in, there are still cameras everywhere.

She grabs the blanket off of the bed, wraps it around herself as she gets up and walks over to the balcony, sliding the doors open. Steve is leaning against the railing, his back to the skyline and his gaze fixed on the stars, but he tips his head down when he hears her, giving her that boyish smile of his as she steps outside and walks over to him.

“We need to get going soon,” he says, and she hums, leaning into his chest and kissing the line of his jaw. His smile softens, and he lifts his hand, bringing her attention to the champagne bottle that he’s holding. “But we might as well have a toast on the house before we slip away, so we can properly celebrate this marriage of ours.”

A giddy warmth flutters in her stomach even as her lips curve in a smirk. “I think we celebrated plenty. Against the wall, and the fridge. And the carpet. And bent over the bed—”

He cuts her off with a breathy laugh and a quick kiss to her lips, and she leans in before he can pull away, kissing him longer, deeper. The blanket starts to slide from her shoulders, but she doesn’t care. Not when he’s draping an arm around her, pulling her flushed against his chest.

A few moments later, he eases his lips off of hers, exhaling a slow breath.

“Still got a hell of a world out there, coming after us,” he says, and though there’s wariness in his tone, there’s something else in it, too. Something she can’t quite place.

“I follow your lead, Rogers.”

She reaches up to cup his cheek as his smile brightens, his eyes glinting. “We follow each other, Mrs. Rogers,” he corrects, then turns his head, brushing a kiss to her ring, and she can’t quite help the giddy laugh that falls from her lips. She likes the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompts/Inspirations**
> 
> 1\. [drunk Las Vegas wedding ](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/173692474381/im-still-at-work-but-i-wanted-to-share-this)  
> 2\. "Romanogers + "I jokingly told you that the only way I’d marry you was if you did this weird outlandish thing, and you actually did it, and I’m kind of charmed.” " sent by bloodredmoon87  
> 3\. [couple against a wall (gif) NSFW](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/175038743602)  
> 4\. [couple in hotel (photo)](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/174738530469)  
> 5\. "First time Nat got drunk, and she suddenly revealed to Steve her secret fantasy of them when they haven’t started dating." from [this post](http://ice326.tumblr.com/post/132536946423/romanogers-first-time-prompts) by ice326
> 
> And ultimately, this entire smut series was inspired by [this prompt](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/173440133136/alright-not-necessarily-a-fix-it-but-maybe-an) sent by an anon. Big kudos to you, darling!


End file.
